Behind the Scenes
by Kgirl1
Summary: This is a oneshot collection, mostly for pieces that are too short to be stand-alone, or for behind-the-scenes moments between the Ghost crew. The chapter descriptors give a general idea of the characters and setting. Chapter Nine: Kanan and Hera, around the beginning of season three.
1. Hera and Ezra (season two)

**A/N: Takes place somewhere around the beginning of Season Two, between "The Lost Commanders" and "Always Two There Are". Because we need more spacemom and spaceson bonding. Sorry if the formatting is off- this site wasn't cooperating with me.**

Ezra was exhausted. Rex and Kanan had been bickering all day long over his training, and just when he started to focus on a task from one of them, the other would switch topics. He had escaped, claiming thirst, and then dashed to his quarters, where he was disappointed to find Zeb taking a loud, snoring nap. He knew he'd be discovered far too quickly in the common room, and the Padawan was too tired to drag himself through the ventilation shafts. He tried Sabine's room, hoping she might offer him sanctuary, but the Mandalorian was painting, something he knew she preferred to do in private. (Even if she had let him in, the fumes would have induced the kind of relaxation he _wasn't_ looking for.) So, Ezra found himself slipping into the cockpit, where Hera was calmly guiding the Ghost through hyperspace. He collapsed into the copilot's chair without a word.

"Well hello there," Hera seemed pleasantly surprised to see him. "I thought you were with Kanan?"

"Oh, was it Kanan this time? Or am I supposed to be training with Rex? Because neither of them can seem to figure it out," Ezra muttered.

Hera's expression softened into a knowing look. "Long day, huh?"

He sighed. "The longest."

She reached over and ruffled his hair. "Well, you're welcome to take refuge here for as long as you like."

"Beep boop beep!"

"Oh, hush, yes he is," Hera scolded Chopper over her shoulder. "Make yourself useful and lock the doors."

Behind him, Ezra heard a disgruntled beep, and then the _whoosh_ of the doors closing. He slumped down in his seat in grateful relief. "Thanks, Hera."

"I'm just sorry about Kanan and Rex. They could be incredible partners, if they ever figure out how to get along," she sighed.

"It's so ridiculous! Every day, they're fighting over this or that, or calling each other out, or criticizing the other's techniques. It never ends, and I'm caught right in the middle! I'm so sick of it," Ezra griped, crossing his arms. "I don't see why Kanan has such a grudge against Rex."

"You weren't alive during the Clone Wars." Hera murmured, her voice taking on a heavy sorrow. "Or for Order 66. I was young, but… There aren't words, Ezra, for how horrible, how gruesome it was. No matter where you went in the galaxy, you couldn't escape the death, the destruction, the bloodshed. So many people were left with so little hope for the future." Hera's shoulders sank. "It was a dark time for any of us, but for a Jedi?" The Twi'lek shook her head, her gaze drifting behind her to where Kanan's quarters would be, and let her silence answer the question.

"Rex and the clone troopers may not be stormtroopers. But when you live with everyone as your enemy for so long…" Hera trailed off. "I guess all I'm saying is, try not to blame him. I'm telling you more than I should, but we—" She faltered, and gripped the Ghost's controls tighter, " _I,_ am asking a lot of Kanan right now. Things are tense, and he's under a lot of pressure. It would mean the world to me if you could give him that Jedi patience of yours."

Ezra slumped further. "I know."

"I know you do," Hera smiled softly. "I know it's hard, but you're doing so well, Ezra."

"Doesn't seem like it," he muttered.

She shook her head. "Kanan tells me impressed with you he is every night."

Ezra perked up hopefully. "R—really?"

"It's true," Hera nodded. "And Rex, too. He couldn't believe you'd only been with us for a year."

"Well…" Ezra folded his arms, trying to hide his joy. "Well, they sure don't act like I'm doing well. Every day it's training this, learning that, lifting this, blasting that…"

"Trust me, they may have a funny way of showing it, but they're proud of you," Hera said firmly. She reached over to put her hand on his shoulder, and gave Ezra a warm smile. "And I am too."

He couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from lifting. "Thanks, Hera."

She rubbed his shoulder affectionately. "Get some rest, kiddo. You deserve it."

Feeling as comfortable as one could be in the cockpit chairs, he let his gaze drift to the kaleidoscope of hyperspace. Hera snuck glances over to her protégé until Ezra's eyes fell closed, and his chin dipped down to his chest. The last thing he heard before he drifted off was her stern but quiet command: "Chopper, don't you dare let anyone through that door."


	2. Kanan and Hera (pre-series)

A few hours ago, Sabine Wren had become a member of the Ghost crew. Despite the amicable relationship he had with the girl thus far, Kanan was in the common room, his mind haunted.

He would never admit it, but he had felt so special, so _needed,_ when Hera had asked him to join her on the ship. Needed, noticed even, was something he hadn't been in a long time. When Zeb appeared, that feeling had faded somewhat, replaced by a sense of disenchantment. So he wasn't quite as special as he had thought. So, it wasn't going to be just the two of them, roaming the galaxy, chasing missions and striking back against the Empire. Well, Kanan could live with that. But then, Hera had decided to pick up the runaway Mandalorian girl, and the pieces started to fall into place.

Was that just her personal mission? Taking in hopeless, pathetic life forms and giving them a purpose again? It certainly seemed right up Hera's alley, and he worried that was how she had seen him. He was beginning to wonder if he had meant anything to her at all. Or if he was just another one of her rescues, another poor soul with no place to call home.

Hera entered the common room. "Kanan, we have another assignment, from Fulcrum."

He didn't look away from the gear he was tinkering with, and she drew closer.

"I know it's been a long week," she hedged, concern evident into her tone. "Are you up for it?"

"What does it matter if I'm up for it? I'm just another one of your charity cases, anyway," he muttered, getting up and leaving the table.

"Kanan Jarrus."

A sharpness, one that was previously unheard to him, cut through the honey of her voice and made him stop in his tracks.

"Don't you dare walk away from me," Hera folded her arms. "You think of yourself as a _charity case?_ "

He turned around. "What? Isn't that why you took in Sabine?"

"I did not "take in" Sabine any more than I took in you. I asked her to join our cause," Hera said empathically, "And she agreed."

"Would she have "joined our cause" if she wasn't a young girl, alone on the streets?" Kanan mocked.

Hera narrowed her eyes. "You think she's here because I took pity on her?"

"Honestly, I'm starting to think we all are."

She sighed. "Kanan…"

"I started to suspect it, with Zeb. But at least he's a warrior; Sabine's nothing but a runaway kid. Don't try to tell me you're going to drag a teenager into war."

Hera opened her mouth, but Kanan pressed on. "You just can't refuse anyone who needs help," he spat. "I used to admire that. But now I'm starting to think I'm just another one of your charges."

"Kanan, you aren't here because I pitied you, you're here because I saw something in you." Hera gave a frustrated reply.

"Oh, come on, Hera. Sabine has nothing, Zeb was an emotional and physical wrecking ball, Chopper should have been sold for scrap metal years ago, and I belong in some backwater bar on Gorse," he accused. "I'm beginning to think you just can't let anyone fall apart."

"You really would rather be there? Sitting in that backwater bar, drunk and alone, on the receiving end of the pitying, remissive look from the bartender every time you ask for another?" She demanded.

"No!" He snapped, and Kanan's shoulders sank with the realization. "No," he admitted, more quietly. "No, I don't want to be there, ever again. But I don't want to be _here_ because you think I need charity."

"Well, you don't belong in that bar," Hera said. "Any more than Zeb does, any more than Sabine belongs on the streets. You belong here."

He folded his arms. "Why? Because your conscience refused to let you let me drink my life away?"

"Because I thought you needed a second chance," she snapped. Hera gestured behind them, to the cabins of their crewmates, and her voice grew solemn and emphatic. "The Empire wronged them, Kanan. Just like it did to you, just like it did to me. It took my mother, it took your master, it took his people, and it took her whole life. We all deserve a chance to fight back."

"Yeah, well, 'second chance' sounds an awful lot like charity case," he retorted. "And that's not what I am."

"What you are is a Jedi," her voice dropped to a whisper, but didn't lose its edge. "And you have more reason to fight this evil than anybody."

"But would you have brought me on if you didn't know that?" He demanded.

Hera threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "You're here, Kanan! Does it matter how? Why can't you just let this go?"

"Because I need to know what I am to you!" His speech became hoarse, and Hera recoiled at the outburst. He cursed inwardly and took a deep, shaky breath. "And now that they're both here, I'm not so sure." He stared at her, certain that he looked as wild and helpless as he had the first time they'd met.

"Kanan Jarrus." Her voice was soft again, the melodic, heartwarming whisper he had fallen in love with back on Gorse. "You are galaxies away from being my charity case."

He met her eyes, burning and bright with passion, and knew instantly that she meant every word. They shared a gaze of understanding, and then Hera cleared her throat.

"The Ghost is built for four. It always has been, and I've always intended to fill it, with people like us," she said firmly. "But that doesn't make you any less important to me. I… rely on you more than you know." Hera's voice grew soft, and she turned away from him.

"You were never a charity case. You were a valuable member of this crew from the start, and if anything, I only value you more now."

He tried to decrypt what she had meant as he watched her lekku sway to the rhythm of her voice, almost hypnotically. Hera turned her head, speaking to him over her shoulder. "I have repairs to make. But does that clear things up for you, Kanan Jarrus?"

His speech seemed stuck in his throat. "Crystal," the Jedi managed.

"Good."

As she sauntered away, Kanan realized that he would never tire of hearing those lips create his name.


	3. Kanan and Ezra (semi-sequel to chp 2)

**A/N: This one is a companion to the previous chapter (but can be read independently) and takes place sometime shortly after the pilot episode. Ezra has doubts about joining the** _ **Ghost**_ **crew.**

The _Ghost_ was prepping to depart from Lothal, but the kid was nowhere to be found. Kanan had gone looking for him, only to discover their new recruit seated at the base of the ship's ramp, his feet touching Lothal's ground.

"You okay, kid?" He asked, making his way down.

"You know, I don't get you guys," Ezra mused. "I mean, this whole thing sounds like the setup for a bad joke. A Twi'lek, a Jedi, a Mandalorian and a Lasat walk into a cantina and rescue a street rat."

Kanan couldn't help but chuckle. "So, what's the punchline?"

"Still working on that part," Ezra frowned. "It might be me."

"Ezra…" The Jedi sat next to him, but before he could say more, Ezra turned his head.

"What are we, a bunch of charity cases?"

"No," Kanan replied.

"You didn't see the look in Hera's eyes when I told her about my parents," Ezra accused.

Kanan sighed. "Hera… sees the best in people. Sees what they have the potential to be, rather than what they are. And crazy as her choices might seem, she's never wrong. Ever."

"Yeah?" Ezra raised an eyebrow.

Kanan chuckled. "I've watched that woman turn a washed-up Jedi, mopey Lasat and trigger-happy runaway into a team of first-class warriors." He nudged the boy. "And, more importantly, a family."

"Right," the teen rolled his eyes. "Family."

"Look, kid, I know it sounds sappy, but if you had told me that the four of us—"

Behind them, Chopper emerged, and emitted a stream of cross bleeps.

"The _five_ of us," Kanan rolled his eyes, "Would become a family… I don't think I would have believed it. And yet, here we are." The astromech zipped away, satisfied.

"I don't want to get into it, Ezra, but I was on my own for a long time. By the time Hera found me, I never thought I would have people that I cared about ever again. And something tells me you know what that feels like," Kanan said. "But joining this crew… that changed everything for me. I think it will for you, too."

"Yeah, well, I don't think it's that easy," Ezra folded his arms. "Zeb left me for dead."

"Only temporarily," Kanan gave a flippant shrug, and Ezra glared at him. "Hey, I'm joking, kid. It's what families do." He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Besides, Hera likes you," he grinned. "And believe me, she can be pretty convincing."

Chopper appeared, communicating that they would be taking off soon.

"Thanks Chop," Kanan pushed himself up. "You coming, kid?"

"I'll be in in a sec," Ezra waved him away. Chopper rolled down the ramp and parked himself next to the boy and beeped inquisitively.

"I'll be up in a sec, I'm just thinking," Ezra grumbled in irritation.

Chopper beeped solemnly. _Hera is good. More good than most sentients and droids deserve._

The boy stared out at the plains of Lothal, his face holding a thousand contemplations. "That's my problem, Chop," Ezra finally sighed. "I don't think I deserve it."


	4. Sabine and Zeb: The Art of Friendship

**A/N: If you look at Zeb's left shoulder pad, there seems to be some sort of growly blue creature (for lack of better phrasing) designed on it. Now, this could be there for a number of reasons, but my personal headcannon is that Sabine sketched it (it seems like something she would do). So, when the season three trailer came out, I naturally had to write this as fast as I could, since now the thought is technically irrelevant (#sleevelessZeb!). Also because we need more Zeb and Sabine pre-Ezra. However, if you're as excited about our crew's redesigns as I am, go check out 'New Looks' for a laugh. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Bond with the new recruit,_ Hera had said. Zeb had scoffed at that: What was he, the welcoming committee?

Hera hadn't found that response nearly as funny as he and Kanan did (well, the blasted lovesick puppy had pretended not to, but Zeb had caught the twitch of his lips) and under one of her famously withering glares, he found himself slouching away to comply.

A year ago, had anyone told Garazeb Orrelios he'd be subservient to a Twi'lek, he would have laughed in their face and probably punched them shortly after. Funny how things changed.

He trudged down the too-short hallway to the common room, where the Mandalorian was sitting at the common table, just like Hera said she would be.

 _Karabast._

It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to be friendly with the newcomer. They were both fighting the same fight, after all, and they'd be sharing close quarters on the _Ghost._ It was just that he didn't want to do the work to get around to being friendly.

He coughed, as if the entrance by a hulking, 2.1-meter purple Lasat wasn't enough to catch her attention. "So. Ah, you hungry?"

She made a noise somewhere between an exhalation and a laugh. "Hera already tried to feed me multiple times, but thanks."

"Well you'd better get used to that," Zeb said, trying to sound jocular.

"Yeah, it's been a while," she murmured, and looked down at her hands. Zeb wondered if she had meant to say that out loud, as the following silence burned in the room.

"So," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "You, uh, have any hobbies, kid?"

She brightened, apparently as grateful for the change of subject as he was. "I like to paint. And draw. Any form of art, really."

 _Huh._ Now that surprised him. Zeb had seen a lot in his day, but a Mandalorian with a penchant for art?

"That's… that's neat," he said.

"I could show you. Your armor could use a burst of inspiration," she said, somewhat deviously.

Zeb chuckled uncomfortably and tried not to visibly edge away. "Heh… define _inspiration."_

"Nothing drastic," she replied. "This piece, here," she gestured to his left shoulder pad, "is just begging for some light sketching."

He raised his eyebrows. "Light sketching, mm?"

Sabine nodded pertly.

Zeb frowned. He wanted to bond with the girl— well, Hera wanted him to bond with the girl, but he knew better than to disobey her "suggestions"— but his armor?

Inwardly, he winced. "Oh, alright. But nothing permanent, savvy?"

For the first time since he'd met her, a wide grin split their new recruit's face, her enthusiasm already making his decision worth it. Not even half an hour later, Sabine had turned the shoulder pad into a fierce, sharp-toothed beast. It had been a little awkward, having her work in such close quarters to him, but Zeb got the feeling that Sabine hadn't noticed at all. She was wholly engrossed in her sketching, focused in the total and complete way only a true artist could be.

"Well?" She watched him expectantly. "What do you think?"

"It's… actually pretty good, kid," Zeb had to admit. It was impressive looking, for how little time it had taken her, and he craned his neck as best he could to check the design out.

"I noticed how you hold your bo-rifle," she said. "It'll be the first and last thing those bucketheads see."

"Heh. Pretty brilliant," he chuckled. "I bet it'll be the best art they ever lay their sorry eyes on."

That same wide grin reappeared, and it reminded Zeb of something Hera had said once, that hope could be found anywhere in the galaxy, if you looked hard enough. The Lasat found himself thinking that he would let her cover his entire uniform, if it kept this kid smiling.

A few days later, he asked her to go over the design in paint. Hera never said anything to him, but every time she passed his left side, a smile of approval lit her face.


	5. Hera and Sabine before Skystrike Academy

**A/N: Because who doesn't need more Hera and Sabine bonding? P.S. I haven't seen last night's episode (Imperial Super Commandos) yet, so I apologize if anything here doesn't line up.**

* * *

Sabine was almost as tall as Hera now.

The Twi'lek wasn't sure how she'd missed that fact. It was hard not to notice, standing so close to the girl as she dyed her hair black in preparation for the mission to Skystrike Academy. She'd had to ask Sabine to sit down. The girl had definitely grown, although not in the same way Ezra had. Sabine was a bit taller, yes, but there was something in the way she carried herself, something in the new cut of her hair and the hardness in her eyes.

She wasn't a little girl anymore. She never had been, really; even when they had picked her up she had been tooth and nail, bones and claws, with a wit as sharp as her expertise with explosives and not a smidge of naiveté about her. But even then, there had still been something lying close beneath that harsh surface, a child's innocence, a girlish joy. Hera had seen it in the look in Sabine's eyes the first time she'd shot someone, the first time they had entered hyperspace, the first time she'd brought chocolate home from a supply run.

It pained Hera, sometimes; knowing that they were directly responsible for bringing this young woman into warfare. The things Sabine had seen, the things she'd done, her view of the world since joining the crew— Hera was responsible for that, for shaping a girl into an instrument of war. Her grief wasn't related to Sabine's gender at all— Hera had long affirmed how important it was for a woman to be able to defend herself. Rather, it was about her age, her lost youth, her stolen childhood. A large part of that had been ruined by the Academy, and by growing up on Mandalore. But still, Hera couldn't help feeling at least partially responsible for it. When they had taken her in, Sabine had really been just a kid. A kid who could handle a blaster, craft armor and mix explosives with the best of them, but still just a kid. Upon joining them, she had wanted to be treated as anything but.

Growing up on Ryloth, Hera had been no stranger to war. It had a constant presence in her life; she didn't know what it was like to _not_ be fighting against something. But even in those times, surrounded by injustice and violence and battle, she had still found a way to be a child. That was largely due to efforts on the part of her mother, who had been Cham's complement in every way.

Sabine had missed that chance, that childhood, and Hera could never give it back to her. All she could do was watch the girl grow up, continue to blossom into a beautiful, dangerous young woman, right before her eyes. The Twi'lek couldn't have been prouder of Sabine, but with that pride came a deep, longing sadness. It was that sadness that reminded why she fought with the Rebellion, so that one day, children of the galaxy would not all be forced to know war.

Hera couldn't erase the war that was a part of Sabine any more than she could erase it from herself. But she liked to think that while Sabine was too young to be treated like a child, she would never be too young to need a mother. And Hera was more than happy to give her that.

She continued working through her hair, coating each colorful strand in the dull, Imperial black. Violet and cream became ebony, making Hera feel like Sabine's innocence was dissolving in her own hands. She scoffed at her own irrationality and shook her head as if that could shake the thoughts away. Sabine could handle this. She had chosen this.

It didn't mean Hera had to like it.

The Twi'lek cleared her throat.

"Nervous?" She asked.

Sabine's response was immediate. "No. Why? Are you?"

Hera smiled; she could tell the girl was teasing her. "Not as nervous as I was when we sent Ezra in, that's for sure."

Sabine started to chuckle but was given pause. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you've been a cadet before. Ezra hadn't. You've been with us a lot longer, Ezra hadn't. You're used to being undercover and running missions like this one, Ezra wasn't." Hera paused. "Now that I think about it, I don't know why we sent him in the first place."

Sabine laughed. "I remember him jumping to volunteer for that mission. I think he just wanted a chance to prove himself."

"Don't be so quick to judge," Hera grinned. "You were the same way when you started with us."

Sabine gasped in indignation. "Was not!"

"Whatever you say, short fuse," Hera teased. To her great and only slightly guilty delight, Sabine's ears turned pink.

"Okay, maybe my first few explosions were a little over-the-top," she admitted.

"A little," Hera deadpanned. "Zeb couldn't hear right for weeks."

"For the thousandth time, I said I was sorry!" Sabine tried to sound petulant, but couldn't hold back from laughing with the pilot. "Besides, he was totally faking it to get out of his chores."

"Oh, come now," Hera smirked.

"He was!" Sabine exclaimed, putting on her best Zeb impression. "'Wait, you wanted me to clean the carbon scoring off the _Ghost?_ I thought you said 'go take a nap, Zeb'!"

Hera laughed harder, her hands shaking in Sabine's hair.

"You know, I did find him listening to music a few times, but I always thought he was just testing his hearing," she cackled.

Sabine laughed even harder at that. Naïve was the last thing she would ever call Hera, but when it came to her crew's wellbeing, the captain could definitely be… forgiving.

"See?" She said. "His ears were fine. He even thanked me later! Told me it was the best week of his life."

"To be fair, he might have just been trying to make you feel welcome," Hera said, trying to quiet her mirth.

"Well, I was certainly more welcome in his eyes than Ezra," Sabine grinned. She knew that had been a point of contention for Hera, and had been waiting for the right moment to tease her about it, now that the two boys were friends. It was a rare occasion that Sabine had Hera to herself these days, with the Twi'lek's growing role in the Rebellion. Though she would never admit it, Sabine now lived for these little moments, when they could stop being captain and soldier. They reminded her of a simpler time, when she and Hera were in the sort of alliance that arose from being the only two girls on the ship. Sometimes she missed those days.

"Ugh." Sabine could just picture Hera rolling her eyes. "Don't remind me." She twirled Sabine's hair thoughtfully between her fingers. "They both did a good job getting over that, though."

Sabine nodded. "Yeah."

A comfortable quiet descended on them.

"You know, it's okay to be a little nervous," Hera spoke. "I still remember my first solo mission."

Sabine perked up. "When you met Kanan?" Kanan and Hera rarely talked about their relationship. Sabine had heard the bare outline of how they'd met, but she was always eager for more details to the story.

"Hey!" Hera tapped Sabine's skull, playfully, as if she was reprimanding her. "I was solo for a _long_ time before I met Kanan. And doing just fine on my own, I might add."

Sabine rolled her eyes. "Right, sorry."

Hera chuckled. "Besides, you're changing the subject. I know you hated being a cadet; it's okay if you aren't thrilled about going back."

"Thrilled is definitely the wrong word," Sabine admitted. "But I'm not nervous. I'm excited. I've got this."

"Okay," Hera murmured. Sabine got the sense that the Twi'lek didn't believe her.

"I'm not nervous!" She huffed. "I mean, I don't love that I have to wear their dumb uniforms, or the helmets. Or that I have to go back to those awful, drab barracks, I mean, the beds were so stiff! Oh, and I'm so not excited to dye my hair back, because it's going to be a pain to re-bleach it. And to add the purple, I mean I had it so perfectly faded this time, I know I'm never going to get it quite right—"

"Sabine." Hera's hands stopped moving. "You know that you will come back to dye it, right?"

Sabine swallowed. "Well, yeah, of course—"

"Sabine." Her tone was gentle. Hera moved to face the Mandalorian and crouched in front of her. "I promise you that no matter what happens, no matter how the mission goes, no matter whether we succeed or fail, _we will get you out of there._ "

Sabine gulped. She hadn't realized how badly she'd needed to hear those words.

"Regardless of whether or not we get the pilots, I _promise_ that we will get you. We're not leaving you there," Hera said. Her voice as firm and resolute as it had ever been, and her eyes were kind but hard with determination.

Sabine was warm with admiration. "Thank you," she whispered. Hera nodded, resuming her place behind the girl's head. Sabine closed her eyes as the Twi'lek's warm hands rubbed her scalp.

"I just… kept imagining that something would go wrong. That I would get trapped there, left behind in their careless, colorless world. Forgotten." Sabine's voice was quiet. "I knew it wouldn't happen, but… that didn't keep the thoughts away."

Hera's fingers were gentle. "You know, courage is not the absence of fear, but rather taking action in the face of it."

Sabine smiled. Hera pulled off the plastic gloves and squeezed her shoulders. "You're going to do great."

"Thanks," she said.

Hera nodded. "Your hair should be ready in an hour or so, once it dries. I'll see you at the briefing?"

"Sure thing," Sabine swallowed, watching the Twi'lek near the door. _Stay,_ her heart whispered. _Don't go. Don't leave me._

It was as if Hera could read her mind (and honestly, that possibility wouldn't have surprised Sabine). "You know," she paused, "I was going to go for a walk, if you wanted to join me. I'm sure it would dry much faster in the sun."

"Yeah?" Sabine tried to mask her joy. "I mean, only if you don't have too much to do."

Hera waved her hand. "When else will I get to see you with monochromatic hair?"

Sabine smirked and stood up to follow her out. "Don't get used to it."

"I wasn't planning on it," Hera chuckled as she opened the door. "Color is definitely more your style."

Sabine just smiled. "I agree."


	6. Kanan and Hera after Steps into Shadow

**A/N: Since this story is more of a oneshot series, the chapters are named after the characters that are featured in them. That will make it easier for you, my lovely readers, to find the kind of character interaction you're looking for. This oneshot focuses on Kanan and Hera after the season three premiere: Steps into Shadow.** **Please enjoy :)**

* * *

The suns of Atollon had long gone down. Kanan had sent Ezra to get some sleep, and was headed to do the same himself, after a brief stop at the center of the base. Sure enough, the captain of the _Ghost_ was exactly where he'd left her, hunched over a holo screen.

His footsteps echoed in the empty room; everyone but the night patrol had long gone to rest.

"Hera, it's late."

The Twi'lek didn't turn around. "I just have to finish this mission report."

"You've almost been up for twenty-four hours," he said.

"And I'll stay up until I'm done with this report," she replied curtly.

Kanan sighed, and waited a few moments to breach his next topic.

"Think you were a little hard on Ezra today?"

Hera faltered for the briefest of seconds, and he knew her well enough to recognize this an extraordinary lapse. Her focus returned to the screen in front of her. "He needs discipline," she said, sounding unconvinced herself.

"Maybe," Kanan nodded, taking a step closer to her. "But he didn't today, after what happened on that mission."

"And what did happen on that mission?" Hera whirled around. "We blew up a space station, lost the Phantom, almost lost Ezra—"

"We almost did." He put a hand on her shoulder. "And it was probably just as scary for him as it was for us."

The hostility faded from her stance, and her shoulder relaxed. He brushed his hand up to her cheek.

"You don't have to Commander Hera for a minute. Quit entering data about the mission and start reflecting on it." His voice was soft. "We almost lost our kid."

Hera's shoulders sank. "I… I know."

She sighed. "I don't know whether to be angry at him for disobeying orders, scared that it almost got him killed, or relieved that it didn't."

"Well," he shrugged, a mischievous smirk on his face. "Even you can't know everything."

Hera knocked his shoulder, and he nudged her back. She opened her mouth but then hesitated.

"Take the mask off?" She asked quietly. He looked from side to side, and that was still eerie to her, the seeing without seeing, but when Kanan was satisfied that they were alone, he lifted the metal away from his face.

She was getting used to it— the milky irises and the scar. It didn't turn her stomach, didn't bring up fresh sympathy for his pain. Hera knew Kanan would have hated that.

It didn't mean her heart hurt any less when those eyes aimed at but never quite found her.

"Talk to me," he said.

They both sat down, and she sighed. "I didn't want to yell at him. You know that, right?"

"I know."

"I just didn't know what else to do. It's… different, now. Now that we're here. There's more procedure, more policy. Everything we do affects countless lives."

"There's more pressure," he said.

"Exactly," Hera sighed, resting her head in her hands. "There's more everything. He's a soldier, just like anyone else here. If I hadn't suspended his command it would have looked like favoritism—"

"And good leaders don't play favorites," he said dryly.

Hera took a deep breath. "Good leaders don't do a lot of things."

He cocked his head. "Like what?"

"They don't play dejarik with Zeb. They don't have time to spar with Sabine, or help her with her newest hair color. They don't get to watch Ezra train. They delegate someone else to give their droids oil baths. They don't take time for their selves and they definitely, definitely don't have enough time for others." Her eyes snuck up to him, and she leaned over and kissed him briefly.

"Ah," Kanan nodded. "Now that's something they don't do nearly enough."

"Yeah," Hera blew out air. "It is." She looked back up at the Jedi. "Did you talk to him?"

Kanan nodded. "He'll be alright."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "They're growing up so fast."

He chuckled. "You sound like an old maid."

"Kanan, I'm serious," she nudged him. "Do you ever wonder…"

"What we're doing, bringing these kids into war?" He finished. Hera reached for his hand, and he closed his fingers around her own.

"All the time," she murmured.

"Me too." He squeezed her hand. "But then I remember that if he weren't here, Ezra would still be alone on the streets on Lothal. He'd be begging for food, sleeping on the streets, going hungry, getting into all kinds of trouble—"

Hera snorted. "He still does that here, love."

Kanan chuckled. "Okay, right, that last one he does. But here he has a bed to sleep in, and food to eat, and people who care about him. And sure, he gets scraped up, shaken up and occasionally yelled at—"

"Only one time," Hera grumbled, and he gave her a look that, even sightless, said _Really?_ "Okay, one _serious_ time," she ceded.

"But even then," Kanan continued, "you weren't yelling at him to teach him a lesson, you were yelling because you were worried."

"I was not yelling," Hera folded her arms.

He hid his smile. "There was a little yelling."

"There was not! I simply raised my voice to convey the seriousness of the problem."

"Right," he said. "Raised it into yelling."

"I was not yelling!"

"She yelled," he teased.

"Were you going somewhere with all this?" She shot back.

He smiled and squeezed her hand. "I was going to tell you that even if Ezra is here, in the midst of war, getting scraped and bruised and lectured, he's still in a better place than he was. He's getting scraped and bruised because he finally has a chance to fight back against the Empire that killed his parents. He's getting lectured because he's been given opportunities to lead, and learn, and grow. And when those scrapes and bruises and lectures happen, he's surrounded by people who care about him and can pick up the pieces. Because while we may have brought this kid into war, we also brought him into our family. And that is something we shouldn't feel bad about in the least."

She turned her head and smiled warmly at him, knowing that somehow he could see it. Kanan pecked her cheek and then stood up.

"But, if you ever do start to feel bad about it, remember that it was _your_ idea."

She glared up at him. "Hey!"

"I'm just saying," he shrugged, trying and failing to conceal a grin. She rose to her feet as Kanan began tapping at her holo screen.

"What are you doing?"

"Saving the mission report," he replied.

"Kanan, it's not done—"

He gently grabbed her hand before she could place it on the screen. "You can finish it tomorrow. You've been up for a full rotation."

"I'm going to full rotation your head if you don't let me finish this," Hera grumbled, but didn't move to stop him.

"That's cute," he smirked. She rolled her eyes. "Okay, no need to roll your eyes."

"You…" She was stunned. "You can see that?"

"I can feel it. Through the Force," he answered simply.

"Oh," Hera nodded.

A smirk cracked his lips. "Every time you roll your eyes, it feels like there's a little Hera fist, punching right into my heart."

She rolled them again. "Now you're just making fun of me."

He slung his arm around her. "Maybe I am. Doesn't change the fact that you need to sleep."

She took one last, longing glance at the screen.

"Hera. Tomorrow," he insisted.

Her shoulders sunk against his side, and Hera realized how exhausted she was. "Fine."

They made their way back to the _Ghost,_ and she allowed herself to lean into him just a little, as they approached her room.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" He smirked.

She shot him a mock glare. "You'd better not keep me awake."

Kanan placed a hand over his heart. "I wouldn't dream of it."

He hung up her flight suit for her while she put on sleeping clothes, and lifted the blanket when she was ready to crawl under the covers. Hera ran her fingertips along the side of his face, gazing into sightless eyes.

"Goodnight, love," she whispered.

He seemed to look right back at her. "Goodnight."

She turned on her side and let him curl around her back, and the world gave way to slumber.


	7. Ezra's thoughts after Spark of Rebellion

**A/N: Wow, this story (or really, oneshot collection) has more followship than I'd thought! I figured it was time for an update. This chapter revolves around Ezra's thoughts after joining the _Ghost_ crew.**

* * *

The first few days on the _Ghost,_ he stuck closest to the pilot, Hera. Not only did she seem the happiest to have him on board, but Ezra, having never seen a twi'lek in person before—only a few glimpses from the holonet—was fascinated by her. The lekku, the exotic pigmentation… coming from a desert planet, Ezra had never seen such a vibrant green, and he was fascinated by the way her lekku moved with her. Of course, he thought she was beautiful (the Jedi that was supposed to be training him, Kanan, obviously agreed) but most lovely to Ezra was the gentle, patient smile she always seemed to have for him. Hera was the first to insist he needed new clothes (ignoring Zeb's grumbling about "hard-earned credits going to waste on clothes the Loth-rat was just going to grow out of anyway"), and always the last to sit with him at the table, when he was finishing the extra helping she'd snuck onto his plate.

The surplus of food hadn't been the miracle he'd first thought of it as—the first few days came with a feeling of painful fullness, and now he was practically surfeited with food. Hera had supported him through it all. Every so often, she reminded him of his mother, which hurt, but in a good way, like getting hugged too hard. Still, she balanced that love with a tough and gritty leadership that didn't take no for an answer (in terms of leaders who were either feared or loved, Hera was determinedly 'both'), and kept their motley crew running as efficiently and effectively as she flew the _Ghost._ Ezra, who had lost any scrap of respect for anything within days of being alone on the streets, now found himself brimming with it for his captain.

She treated him with the most kindness, out of any of them. That wasn't necessarily a slight to the others (well, maybe Zeb and Chopper) so much as it was a paean to her unremittingly warm nature. Kanan was second, although he was a little too busy flirting with Hera (Ezra was still trying to figure out the exact nature of their relationship, but it definitely surpassed platonic) and providing dry quips to start the Jedi training Ezra had been hoping for. The older man was indisputably cool— possessing a lightsaber shut up anyone who dared question that assertion—Ezra just wished he had a little more time to teach. So far, the only thing Kanan (and his constant procrastination) had taught Ezra was the importance of persistence (and eventually, the importance of going over his head, and straight to Hera). It hadn't taken him long to figure out that while Kanan ran their missions in the field, Hera was indubitably the leader, and on the _Ghost,_ her word was law.

Sabine—beautiful, volatile, blaster-toting Sabine—was the other female that shared their ship. He obviously liked her a whole lot more than she him, but Ezra was never one to be discouraged. If he could survive seven years on the streets, breaking down her aloof demeanor would be child's play. Unfortunately, those seven years on the streets were proving to be nothing, compared to the icy reception she'd given him thus far, and to make matters worse, she hardly seemed impressed by all the time he'd survived on his own. In fact, the whole crew seemed rather unimpressed by his feat, something that both disappointed and annoyed him (only later would he learn that at his age, Hera had defied her father, left her homeworld, and learned how to fly; Kanan had watched his master die to save him and consequently began a life on the run; Sabine was already smuggling with Ketsu and the Black Sun and Zeb… well, who knew what Zeb was up to at fourteen (probably nothing good), but he ended up being the sole survivor of his race, so his judgment of bad things that could befall people was pretty skewed. The sum of this information would eventually make their initial lack of admiration understandable).

He did like Sabine. Not only because she was the most striking thing he'd ever seen—she was also clever, a gifted artist, and scarily good with a blaster (he might have flirted more aggressively with her, had it not been for this dissuading fact). She was everything—worldly, talented, battle-scarred—that he, just a few years her junior, was not, and that made her all the more exciting.

The least exciting of his prospective teammates was definitely Zeb (well, out of the sentient ones, anyway. Throw Chopper in the mix and the two were tied for dead last). As if it wasn't bad enough that the Lasat possessed a unique odor, quick temper, and a prejudice against fourteen-year-old "Loth-rats" that uninvitedly crashed his bunk—he also had a cruel habit of popping up whenever Ezra could get Sabine alone and embarrassing him. It didn't help that the Lasat was far larger, stronger, and in general more menacing-looking than he was, which meant Ezra was subject to whatever torment (usually verbal—despite his propensity for threatening it, the Lasat had yet to lay an actual hand on him, something Ezra had added to his mental list of things to thank Hera for) the Lasat chose to inflict. He'd been hoping that there was a sort of "gentle giant" nature to Zeb, but so far, Ezra had only seen giant.

Zeb was hardly his favorite of the crew, but at least he could be reasoned with, unlike their resident astromech (who Hera seemed genuinely and wholeheartedly devoted to, for reasons beyond any crew member's comprehension). Chopper's nature couldn't have been more juxtaposed against their captain's, but all the same, she insisted on his status as a member of the team. Ezra didn't care what they called the sadistic rolling armory, so long as it kept its electroshock prod, buzz saw, arc welder and Force knew what other weapons far away from him. He found relief only in that his other crewmates felt the same way (and in that the only sentient Chopper seemed to hold even an iota of devotion or esteem for was Hera, so at least Ezra wasn't alone in the astromech's rebuff). He'd tried to knock on Hera's door once only to be nearly flattened by the droid, who informed him in no small amount of four-number chains of binary that their captain was getting some much-needed rest, after nearly a full cycle of dealing with _you_ idiots (the droid failed to specify who those idiots were, or the nature of the idiocy they were guilty of, so Ezra took it to mean the group's existence as a whole), thank you very much.

Kanan had once mentioned that oil baths were the way to Chopper's "tiny, mangled, wireball excuse for a heart," but for Ezra, even that investment didn't seem worth it. So, much like he and Zeb, they continued living in a state of mutual disapproval.

Besides the grumpy droid and the even grumpier Lasat, the chilly but intriguing Sabine Wren, and the charismatic, if procrastinating, rapscallion of a Jedi, things were looking up for Ezra Bridger. The number of complete meals he ate in a day had gone from one-half to three (Hera was thrilled to have another crew member who wholeheartedly believed ration bars counted as meals), he'd taken his first real shower in seven years, and been given clean clothes and a bed that an optimistic might even refer to as comfy. And that had just been on his first night. Sure, his roommate occasionally snored (and had left him for dead in the hands of the Empire, but Ezra was picking his battles), and sure, Hera had started assigning him to shifts and odd jobs around the _Ghost_ (nothing too strenuous and nothing that would interfere with his sleep schedule, something that he appreciated and felt slightly mothered by, which only made him appreciate it more), but it felt good to have a purpose other than survival. It felt even better to be surrounded by people again (he was starting to actually sleep, after the first few days of tense alertness, which he spent waiting for them to show their true cards and either maim, kill, or sell him). When no hint of the three options had surfaced (despite Chopper's occasional threat that Zeb was planning to eat him—Sabine and Zeb seemed to find this amusing, which Ezra took as a sign that it wasn't true), Ezra had finally let his guard down and started trying to enjoy life with his new family.

Not that he would ever tell them he was starting to think of them as that.


	8. Polished: Sabine & Hera, pre-Rebels

**A/N: "Polished." In an effort to make Sabine feel at home in her first few weeks with the crew, Hera steps far outside her own comfort zone.**

Hera passed through the common room, in the brief respite between one task and another, when a certain colorful collection at the table caught her eye and gave her pause.

"Hera!" Sabine seemed surprised and maybe a little nervous to see her. She had a nail polish applicator frozen in her left hand, and the fingernails on her right were all a fresh shade of purple. "Um, you don't mind if I paint my nails here, right?" The girl gave a weak, and slightly guilty, smile.

Hera wasn't thrilled with the idea (especially since Sabine had brought it up after the fact) or the mess it could possibly lead to, but she knew that having a teenager on board meant picking her battles. Especially a teenager who was so new to the crew, and had yet to open up to them besides her basic biographical information. And really, nine out of ten of her nails were already painted, so there was no point in causing a fuss over it now.

"Sure," she said, throwing ease into her voice. "Just don't get polish on the table." Hera couldn't help but add that last part.

"Right, right, of course," Sabine nodded eagerly, clearly relieved to be off the hook. Hera went to wash her hands, watching Sabine out of the corner of her eye.

"That's a pretty color," she commented idly.

Sabine flexed her fingers out, examining them carefully. "Thanks. It turned out a little darker than I thought it would, but I think I like it."

"It suits you," Hera said. Sabine smiled and set her hands back on the table. She watched absentmindedly as the pilot dried her hands, and then an idea danced across her face.

"Do you ever paint your nails?" Sabine asked.

"Ah, no," Hera shook her head.

A creative gleam lit Sabine's eyes. "Can I paint them sometime?"

Hera blinked in surprise. "Sure," she said, swallowing.

"Like right now?" Sabine was grinning at her eagerly. Hera swallowed again.

"I don't know, Sabine—"

"Why not? You're not doing anything," Sabine pointed out, then shrugged. "Well, you're always doing _something,_ but, you're not doing anything particularly important, right?"

Hera shifted between her feet. "Well—"

"Come on," Sabine begged. "It's quick-dry," she added in a sing-song voice, wiggling the bottle.

Hera bit her lip, glancing between her hands, the polish, and her newest recruit. Her shoulders tense, she slipped into the common room's booth in resignation.

"Alright."

"Yes," Sabine's cheeks cracked in a wide grin, and she amassed the collection of bottles. "Okay, for you, I'm thinking "Hyperspace Blue." It'll totally match your eyes."

Hera took in the obscenely bright color and stifled a gulp. "You're the expert," she murmured, setting her gloves off to the side. Hera spread her fingers on the table and watched Sabine go to work, transforming her fingernails into bright blue ovals one by one. She found herself grateful that female twi'leks didn't have the same pointed, claw-like fingernails as the males—that certainly would have been disconcerting for Sabine. Still, her stomach churned to see the garish color applied.

"So you've really never done this?" Sabine broke the silence.

Hera hesitated. "We don't really use nail polish on Ryloth," she said carefully. It was a half-truth.

"That's too bad," Sabine said, without looking up from her work. "You have the perfect hands for it."

Hera could only murmur in response to what was meant to be a compliment.

"What about you?" She changed the subject. "How long have you been painting them?"

Sabine chuckled. "Ever since I could get my hands on this stuff. It was one of the only forms of painting my mother approved of, and that was mostly because I could cover it up with gloves."

If she'd realized that those two sentences had revealed more about her past than the past two weeks had, Sabine gave no indication.

"That's surprising, considering what a talented artist you are," Hera said, hoping to prompt her into saying more.

Sabine just shrugged. "Art wasn't really one of her priorities."

"Mm," Hera nodded. There was a hesitant silence between the two. "You don't talk about your mother much," she finally said.

Sabine lifted a level stare to meet Hera's eyes. "Neither do you."

Hera gave a rueful smile. "Touché."

"Is she alive?" Sabine asked. It struck Hera, how tragic it was, for that to be the first question a young girl would ask, and how tragic it was that neither of them was phased by it.

Hera shook her head. "She died during the Clone War."

"I'm sorry," Sabine murmured. Hera could tell that she meant it.

"Thank you," she said.

"Do you miss her?"

The question, sensitive and contrary to the prickly nature Sabine had shown them so far, surprised Hera. She answered it with as much sincerity as she could.

"I do, but, I know she's still with me," Hera said. She debated saying more, figuring the teen would find it cheesy, but forged ahead anyway. "I don't think the people we love ever really leave us."

Sabine gave a soft smile, but it quickly faded, and she resumed her attention to Hera's nails without another word. The lack of a response spoke volumes to the twi'lek.

"And… done," Sabine finally announced, after a few minutes of companionable quiet. Hera held her hands out and examined them.

"Wow," she said, blinking at the glaring hue. Hera's chest felt tight. "Great job, Sabine," she managed. That was a full truth—the polish job was impeccable, even if seeing her nails painted so gaudily made Hera feel sick.

"Thanks," Sabine grinned. She gave Hera a knowing look. "I'm sure you have some task to run off and do, but let them dry for a while before you put your gloves on, alright?"

Hera forced a smile and gave a careful mock salute. "Yes ma'am."

She left the common room followed by Sabine's chuckle. The twi'lek was torn—her heart was warm, but her stomach had an icy knot in it. Unconsciously, she found her way to the cockpit, took the pilot's chair and started running diagnostics—Hera had always felt most at home here, in control at the helm of her ship. With her fingers flashing madly, she could pretend the glaring blue was coming from the controls, rather than her nails.

Kanan found her in the pilot's chair, when he stopped by later. Having run every possible diagnostic twice, Hera had her bare hands splayed on the dashboard and was studying them intently.

"Whoa," he said, noticing the polish instantly. Kanan dropped into the chair next to her. "That's… new."

"I look like a whore," Hera murmured, flexing her fingers. Kanan furrowed his brow.

"Um…" He faced her, looking quizzical. "No."

Hera gave him an exasperated look. "Look at this." She held her hands out to him, nails first, and shook them.

"I saw. It's… different," he said carefully. Kanan was experiencing that same caged-animal unease so many men feel when confronted with a significant other whose distress they can't identify.

Hera sighed, and lowered her voice. "On Ryloth, nail polish is for prostitutes." Her tone was hushed, as if the sentence were a cancer diagnosis.

His eyebrows went up. "Oh." _Distress, identified._ "And you're wearing it because…"

She sighed again, this time with resignation. "Sabine asked me to. She wanted to paint my nails, and she's new on the ship, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings—"

"Gotcha," he nodded. Kanan cocked his head. "I take it you neglected to mention the whole prostitute thing."

"Of course I did," Hera huffed, flinging a hand in the air. "It only would have made her uncomfortable, which is the opposite of what I'm trying to do."

Kanan leaned back in his chair. "You know," he said slowly, "You don't have to play dress-up for her to feel welcome here."

Hera shot him a glare.

"I hate that I'm even saying this, but it's a girl thing," she rolled her eyes, resentful that he'd forced her to resort to clichés. "You wouldn't understand."

He snorted.

"I'm serious," Hera swatted his arm. "I know it sounds trite, but nail polish is one of those things girls can bond over. I was hoping to get close to her."

"And did it work?" Kanan raised an eyebrow.

"Actually… Yeah," she admitted, nodding slowly. "She revealed a lot about her past. More than she was planning to, I think."

"Good," he said. "That's good."

"Yeah." Hera looked back down to her fingernails and sighed. "It's great."

Kanan reached over to put a hand on her shoulder. "You probably don't have to let her paint your nails every time you want to bond with her, you know."

Hera bit her lip through a grin. "I hope not."

* * *

After talking with Hera, Kanan ambled his way into the common room, where he found Sabine sitting at the table, sorting through nail polish. He smiled knowingly.

"Hey," he greeted her as he entered. "Want some caf?"

Sabine shrugged. "I'm good, thanks."

Kanan nodded and started the machine. "What's all that?" He feigned innocence.

"Nail polish," Sabine answered. "I did mine and Hera's earlier."

Kanan raised an eyebrow. _"Hera_ let you paint her nails?" He sounded incredulous.

"Yeah." Sabine looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

Kanan started to say something but then clammed up. "No reason." He turned back to the counter and stirred his caf.

"Kanan!" Sabine huffed in frustration. "What is it?"

He waved a hand in the air behind his back, without turning around. "Nothing, nothing," Kanan murmured, a mischievous grin that she couldn't see on his face. "I just thought you knew."

Sabine frowned, stood up from the table, and went over to the counter so that he had to face her. "Knew _what?"_ She demanded, her eyes narrowed.

Kanan cast a hesitant glance to the door. "I don't know, Sabine, it's not really my place to say…"

She groaned and rolled her eyes at him, giving him an impatient look. Kanan sighed in resignation and leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. His eyes darted to the door once more, and he relished every second of the performance before he spoke.

"On Ryloth, where Hera's from… nail polish is only worn by prostitutes," he said tentatively. Sabine's mouth dropped open in horror, and if he hadn't been hiding his amusement with a doleful nod, Kanan might have chortled at the teenager's expressive face.

"Are you serious?" She hissed. Sabine glanced back to the pile of nail polish in horror. "Why didn't she tell me?"

Kanan shrugged. "You know Hera," he said, and took a nonchalant sip of his caf, as if the three of them had known each other for years. "She'd never want to hurt your feelings."

"Urgh." Sabine stomped a foot on the ground, and again, he had to conceal his laughter. "She probably hates me," she worried, glancing in the direction of the cockpit and then spreading her arms to him. "What do I do?"

Kanan licked his lips. "Well, not trying to paint her nails again is probably a good start."

He found himself pinned by the full force of a resentful teenaged glare, which, if not for years with Hera, he might not have been so impervious to. "You're no help," Sabine huffed.

Hera, unwittingly joining Kanan's performance with a timing that couldn't have been more perfect if she had been cued, chose that exact moment to walk through the galley.

"Hera," Sabine exclaimed. Hera jolted, and Kanan wondered if the unease she quickly concealed on her face had something to do with the thought of Sabine asking to paint her toenails, too. The twi'lek opened her mouth, but Sabine beat her to it.

"Kanan just told me that nail polish is for _prostitutes?"_ she screeched.

Hera's eyes fell on Kanan in a glare that mimicked Sabine's the same way a rancor mimicked a Lothcat. He found himself questioning the brilliance of his plan.

"He did, did he?" Hera folded her arms, her stare unwavering. Kanan reached up to rub the back of his neck.

"I… may have mentioned it, yes," he admitted, and tried not to break her gaze, which was like staring into both of Tatooine's suns at once.

Sabine ignored the tension between the two. "Why didn't you say something?" She demanded of Hera.

Hera shifted her gaze away from Kanan, who was greatly relieved, and turned more bashful eyes in Sabine's direction.

"I didn't want to insult you," she admitted. "I was touched that you offered, and I didn't want to turn you down."

"Yeah, but Hera, you're not a prostitute," Sabine said forcibly. She sounded uneasy. "You didn't have to go against your principles for something as vapid as nail painting."

"I wasn't really in it for the nail painting," Hera gave a gentle, if bashful, smile. "What I really wanted was a chance to talk to you. You're new on the ship, and I wanted to make you feel comfortable."

Sabine threw her hands up in the air. "How is turning my captain into a prostitute supposed to make me feel comfortable?!"

Hera shot another icy look at Kanan, and then her eyes lid back to Sabine, softening with an apology. "To be fair," she admitted, "You weren't supposed to find out."

Kanan winced, as if to apologize. Hera rolled her eyes at him, informing him that they would have a long and painful discussion about this later. Sabine watched the exchange with amusement.

Hera turned back to the girl. "Look, Sabine, you couldn't possibly have known. I was glad you offered, and that we got to spend some time together. It's nice having a girl on the ship, for a change," she said, directing the last sentence in Kanan's direction. He wilted under her stare.

"Well," Sabine shifted back and forth, uncomfortable with the praise. "If you want me to take it off, I will."

Hera pursed her lips and straightened her shoulders, looking down at her nails with an upbeat chuckle. "You know, it's kind of growing on me."

Kanan lifted his eyebrows at this, but made sure Sabine didn't see. The girl managed a faint smile, and her gaze drifted awkwardly around the room.

"I should get this stuff cleaned up," she said reluctantly. "I'm, uh, glad you like it," she bobbed her head quickly at Hera, before gathering the polish and darting out.

Kanan had the good grace to wait until the sound of her footsteps vanished before leaning back against the counter with a smirk.

"Growing on you, huh?"

Hera rolled her eyes and shoved him on her way out. "Next time, she can paint _your_ nails."

"Hey, I was just trying to get you guys on the same page!" Kanan stood in the doorway and called after her. "If we're going to be a crew, we have to be honest with each other!"

"Then let be honest with you," Hera turned her head and rolled her eyes. "Sleep in your own bunk tonight!"

He chuckled as she sashayed away. Back in the kitchen, one of the bottles had fallen to the ground—he picked it up and examined it briefly, a bright green. Kanan held it up to his fingernails for a moment, and cast a glance in the direction Hera had gone off in, but then just gave a rueful grin and set it down, shaking his head.


	9. Kanan and Hera (around season three)

**A/N: I recently received a very kind PM asking if I was alright, since I haven't been heard from in a while. The short answer is yes, and that it's very sweet of you to be concerned; the long answer is that I spent all of January working on a big project, and then February just kind of… happened. My "document manager" is devastatingly low. (I was also keeping a low profile last week in a desperate, and thankfully successful, attempt to avoid spoilers. Speaking of which, I haven't watched the most recent episodes, so no spoilers, please!) Anyone still reeling? Feel free to PM. This is a little drabble that I've been polishing for a while… I have a lot of material with Kanan in it that you'd better believe I'm still going to post. This one takes place around the beginning of season three, but after the first episode.**

* * *

Kanan wakes up in darkness.

He's used to that, by now… it's been a year since the incident with Maul, but on nights like these, the pain's as fresh as if it were yesterday. He touches a hand to his face to check for cauterized flesh, and swears he smells something scorched.

There is nothing— his room on the _Ghost_ hums with silence. There is no Sith here, no enemy but his demons.

He heaves a sigh and reclines lays back on his bunk, fully awake. If he weren't blind, he'd be staring up at the ceiling, counting the bolts and panels like he used to do back in the early days of the ship. Of course, back then he mostly did so to distract himself from thoughts of Hera, but throughout the years it's become an effective way to calm down.

He breathes in the recycled air, letting it fill his chest and slow his beating heart, and wishes she were here. He wants her scent, not this stale oxygen, not the faint tang of the sweat that's soaked through his sheets. He wants to feel her heartbeat, not the one that's hammering inside his own chest. He wants her hands, soft and cool, tracing his brow— not the phantom pain of a lightsaber.

He wants, no, he _needs,_ her voice, humming him to sleep. He misses her more in this moment than he did back in those early days, back before they'd found a rhythm with each other. Foregoing the bolts and ceiling panels, Kanan puts her in his mind's eye, focusing on her signature first and then going for her profile. She's working—always working, that woman—this time on an A-wing. Chopper's at her side, holding at tools, blipping and chirping occasionally. Kanan gives a tiny shake of his head—the droid is a lot of things, but at least he's loyal.

Kanan watches Hera as she fixes the ship. It's like watching Sabine paint; different but the same, a master and her craft. Even without seeing her, he can picture the crease of concentration in her brow, the laser focus in her eyes, the deft grace of her hands. He wants those hands here, now. He wonders, as he often does, when she last slept, and decides it's better for his own health if he doesn't think about it.

His mind drifts, focused lazily on her; he's nowhere near sleep, but at least the nightmare has faded. He's lost track of what's real-time and what's memory, but as long as she's in his mind's eye, it's enough to chase the demons away.

His door slides open, and it's like his heart jumps out of his chest—only when that familiar scent wafts in does he relax. He's shot straight up in his bed, and she comes to sit next to him, wrapping one arm around him and using it to nudge him gently back down. He breathes her in, and just like that, everything is alright again.

"Hey," he tries to sound nonchalant. "It's oh-three-hundred, shouldn't you be working?"

Her chuckle tells him both that she's amused and that she sees right through him; that it pains her to see him like this, but that she won't say anything, and for that he's grateful. She curls into him, and he around her; hearing that heartbeat, inhaling her scent, memorizing her as he so often has.

"I have two hours before the pilots have early flight training," she whispers. His eyes have already begun to fall shut, and he murmurs back,

"I'll take it."


End file.
